


At 3 A.M.

by laugh_a_latte



Series: Diner Boys! [2]
Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: Angst, Diners, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Post-Squip, So I hope it's readable, Suicidal Thoughts, They're trying their bestest, Trust Issues, boyf riends - Freeform, i wrote this half-asleep, late night/early morning, referenced panic attacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-13
Updated: 2019-05-14
Packaged: 2020-03-02 12:14:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18810700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laugh_a_latte/pseuds/laugh_a_latte
Summary: Jeremy is having a bad night. Michael is having a bad night. Jeremy texts Michael, and they have their bad night together.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Please pay attention to the tags!

_Jeremy: Can u come over?_

_sorry_

_you’re probably asleep_

_ignore these texts in the morning_

_Michael: omw_

_Jeremy: sorry did i wake u?_

_Michael: no. leaving now_

Jeremy lets his phone slide out of his hands and onto his chest. He presses his palms into his eyes until he sees stars. He opens his eyes and watches the colors in his vision wiggle on his ceiling. Then he does it again until the back of his throat isn’t tight anymore and he can breathe normally.

Jeremy counts to thirty, then picks his phone up and rolls off his bed.

He sits on the edge of his bed, feeling like he's about to get the flu. He can hear the blood rushing through his ears and his head is absolutely pounding. Jeremy closes his eyes and cracks his neck, but the sound only makes the throbbing worse. Jeremy sits very still, waiting for it to go away. When it doesn’t, he stands up. 

Jeremy looks around his bedroom and feels this overwhelming urge to get out.

Everything in here feels so wrong, so out of place. Jeremy feels like the walls are closing in and like he is running out of space to exist in, even though he has the biggest bedroom in the house. He tries to push the feeling away before he starts panicking again.

As if in a trance, Jeremy walks to his closet and finds clean clothes to change into. His T-shirt is damp and his hair is sticking to his forehead. Everything feels clammy and heavy. And that just won’t do.

Jeremy digs through his T-shirts without thinking, and pulls out a nice shirt with some rapper’s logo on it. A voice in his head tells him needs to wear it. Jeremy feels his chest constrict again as he shakes his head as tosses it aside. He swears he feels a shock go down his spine, but that can’t be right. He continues digging until he finds a plain blue T-shirt. No logos. The Squip would have called it a safe shirt.

Jeremy reluctantly agrees.

Next, he finds jeans and clean boxers, then he slams the drawer shut and leaves the room with the door open.

Jeremy never leaves his bedroom door closed anymore, if he’s not in it. What could be waiting for him on the other side freaks him out. Because sometimes he still sees the Squip, and although it has no power over him anymore, the thought of it lurking behind closed doors and in shadows is too much. Michael called it Schrödinger's Squip when Jeremy told him about it. Jeremy can't tell if he's going crazy or not.

So Jeremy leaves his door open.

In the bathroom, he strips down, turns the shower on ice cold, and jumps in, biting a hand towel so he doesn’t scream and wake his dad. Jeremy forces himself to stay under the spray as he runs the cold water over his face and through his hair.

He shuts it off, shivering and breath coming rapidly. His body is still in shock but his brain is awake and alert. Plus, the part of it that's been telling him to kill himself in Keanu Reeves' voice for the past two hours is wonderfully silent. Another benefit of cold showers.

Jeremy wraps himself up in a towel and sits on the toilet with his knees pulled to his chest. He rocks back and forth as he waits for the feeling to come back in his toes and for his heart rate to calm down.

He rubs the rough towel over his face a few times and through his hair until it's sticking up in odd directions, but mostly dry.

The stark bathroom light makes the darkness under his eyes stand out that much more against his pale skin. He frowns at them in the mirror, then shakes his head. No time to worry about that. Michael will be here any minute.

Jeremy shoves his clean clothes on, even though his back is still damp from the shower. Shower damp and sweat damp are not the same damp, so he can deal.

Jeremy turns off the bathroom light, shoves on his shoes without socks, and walks out into the night. The moon is crescent and providing little light for Jeremy to see anything. The air is thick with humidity that sticks to Jeremy, making him the wrong kind of damp again. The shadows do funny things to his eyes, but he's happy so long as none of the shadows are wearing sparkly coats.

He has too much energy to sit on his porch like usual, so instead he walks down the drive and back up. And repeat and repeat.

His shoes scrape against the cement and crickets chirp somewhere in the distance. One chirp is closer than all the rest, though. Jeremy stops pacing and listens, trying to place it.

He narrows the cricket’s location down to a square foot by the time Michael’s tires are crunching over gravel at the bottom of his driveway. Michael parks and turns off the car and gets out. He’s doing this half-jog thing to the front door, but freezes when he sees Jeremy. After a moment he sighs and his shoulders drop.

“Dude, you scared me,” Michael says, approaching Jeremy. “I thought you were a murderer.”

“Just me,” Jeremy looks away from the cricket area to Michael's general direction. “I'm sorry for bothering you in the middle of the night. It’s really stupid.”

Michael shakes his head. His hair isn’t done up like usual, and instead it’s flopping down into his eyes. “You never bother me,” Michael says.

“Um, I probably should have made sure it was okay when I was texting you, but c-can we like, go somewhere that isn’t here?” Jeremy stammers out.

“Is that why you’re standing in your driveway staring at grass at three in the morning?”

Jeremy nods, not quite meeting Michael’s eyes.

“Um. Yes. Yeah, we can go somewhere,” Michael says, though he doesn't sound so sure. “Uh, but can I run inside first and get a jacket or something?”

"A jacket?" Jeremy asks, looking up at Michael. A jacket in this humidity is a death sentence, in Jeremy's opinion. But then Jeremy notices Michael's arms crossed over his chest, like he's hugging himself. Michael’s wrists are nestled close to him and, _oh_ , he’s not wearing his bracelets.

This awful realization pools into his chest, and he feels slightly less awful that he called, because Michael only takes off his bracelets to do one of two things, and Jeremy knows he wasn’t sleeping.

Because of how his arms are crossed, Jeremy can’t see if he did anything or not yet. Maybe he texted just in time. Jeremy hopes so, at least.

Michael squirms under the staring. “I, um. I rushed over here when I got your text. I didn’t have time to, um. Yeah,” Michael shakes his head. “Yeah, let’s get out of here.”

Didn’t have time to do anything or didn’t have time to throw a hoodie or bracelets on, Jeremy doesn’t ask.

Jeremy walks Michael to the front door, but hangs back as Michael quietly goes to Jeremy’s room.

As long as Jeremy can remember, some of his clothes have always been at Michael’s, and some of Michael’s at Jeremy’s. It made unplanned sleepovers much easier, and it’s never really stopped. The Squip wanted Jeremy to get rid of Michael’s clothes, and Jeremy is glad it never got the chance to go through with that plan.

Michael reappears a minute later with a plain pink hoodie thrown on. It’s messed up his hair and offset his glasses just slightly. Jeremy resists the urge to fix them when Michael steps in front of him.

“Let’s go,” he says tiredly. Jeremy follows.

Jeremy pulls at the passenger door, but it’s locked. Michael goes around and unlocks it as he climbs in the driver’s side. Jeremy pulls again, this time it opens. He slides in.

Jeremy has always loved driving at night, but only after midnight. There’s a certain feeling of freedom that comes with drives at those odd hours. Everything is quiet, the roads are desolate. Everything feels new and exciting, like you're the universe's favorite secret.

Michael’s car is warm and cozy. He’s playing Marley softly through the cassette player. Jeremy feels safe.

The ignition putters to life as Michael turns the key. He sniffs and finally fixes his glasses, then looks at Jeremy, who notices his eyes are bloodshot, and not the high kind of bloodshot. He looks away.

“Literally anywhere but here.”

“Okay,” Michael says, pulling away.

Jeremy keeps glancing at him as he drives. He is leaning forward a bit further than usual. He's holding tension in his expression, but Jeremy can't quite place where, and he looks damn tired. And Jeremy feels so stupid again that he had to text Michael to come get him, just because Jeremy was having a bad night.

“I’m sorry for bothering you at such a dumb hour just to drive around,” Jeremy says again after a few blocks.

“Jere, you’re so fine, and, uh,” Jeremy watches Michael. His eyebrows are pulled together and he’s staring at the road a little too closely. “I’m, um. It’s good that you texted me. When you did.”

The silence that follows is so thick, Jeremy can almost hold it, and while he still feels stupid about having to bother Michael with his shit, he doesn't regret it.

“You didn’t, um. Y-You didn’t hurt yourself, right?” Jeremy stammers out in the most awkward way possible. And God, he could just shoot himself then and there.

It’s just that he doesn’t _know_ how to deal with this stuff, and he’s never sure if what he’s saying could hurt Michael in any way or upset him, or if he's actually helping, or if Michael wants him to _just shut up already._

Michael just exhales long and hard and gives Jeremy one shake of his head. And that’s it.

Jeremy looks away. He wishes Michael would tell him about it. About why he does it, or what caused him to feel like he had to do it this time, or _anything_ so Jeremy could help him, for fucks sake. And Michael promised he would call Jeremy if he ever wanted to do that. And it’s the one promise he’s always breaking, and Jeremy wishes so badly he wouldn’t. He wants to help him, God, he wants to be there for Michael, but he doesn’t know where to start, and Michael isn’t telling him. And Jeremy doesn’t know how else to ask.

And even if Michael did talk to Jeremy about it, Jeremy is still sure he'd screw it up somehow. He already can barely deal with what Michael does show him. Hell, he can barely deal with himself.

And these days, Jeremy wants to be there for Michael more than ever. He _knows_ he can't make up for what he did, but he wants to try. He just doesn't know where to start.

“Jere?” Michael is looking at him, stopped at a red light. But no one is at the intersection. His blinker is on, sending little flashes off into the darkness as the signal clicks. Jeremy looks at Michael.

“God, tonight just fucking sucks, doesn’t it?” Jeremy says, holding the eye contact.

“Yeah." Michael shakes his head and looks back towards the light.

“Yeah.”

The light turns green. Michael turns, pushing on the accelerator a little too hard. He drives down the street a minute, then turns into a familiar gravel parking lot.

“I need coffee,” Michael says as he throws the gear shift into park.

Jeremy looks at the circles under his eyes and smirks. “No, you don’t.”

Michael glances back at Jeremy, his eyes warming ever so as he returns the small smile. “No, I really don’t.”

Jeremy gets out of the car, followed closely by Michael. The diner lights are glowing in the dark morning. Jeremy wraps his arms around himself, listening to the crickets' songs as he follows Michael into the building.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this and want to continue it so maybe posting it will inspire me to continue my first, get this, multi-chapter story! Woah!  
> For some reason I like this idea where one has a bad night and calls the other, then they go get breakfast. I just like the diner aesthetic, idk, is this a thing people like? Because this is my second diner fic. I'll just post it now and hope I don't want to delete it in the morning lol


	2. Chapter 2

Michael recognizes the waitress from the last time they were here. She must be the usual third shift person. Michael feels kind of bad out of nowhere about it, but she smiles at them nonetheless.

“Hey, sit where ever you want.”

Michael returns her smile. “Thanks.”

Jeremy is giving him the Look. Like Michael should choose where to sit. Michael chooses the exact same booth as last time. He slides into the vinyl seating, with his back to the entrance so Jeremy can face the door. Jeremy doesn’t like having his back to doors. He told him that one time at three in the morning, and Michael remembers. He always tries to remember. They talk about the oddest things at three in the morning, and Michael supposes this morning is no different.

It feels different, though.

He throws his keys on the bench beside him, then removes his glasses to rub at his eyes. They’re still raw from earlier, and the contact hurts, but Michael wants to stay awake. He always gets really, pathetically tired after his panic attacks. He stops rubbing his eyes to look at Jeremy.

Michael wonders if Jeremy was legit panicking when he texted or if he was getting there and trying to stop it. He wants to ask, but doesn’t know how. Ever since the Squip, asking Jeremy things has been hard, to say the least. Opening up to him near impossible. And Michael doesn’t understand why the trust is just gone like that. Well, he has a pretty good idea, but when he thinks about it his chest aches.

He used to tell Jeremy everything. And when you used to tell someone everything, then suddenly, literally, can't, it’s hard to just start doing it again.

But Michael is trying to get there. Trying to stay Jeremy’s best friend since ever, and hoping Jeremy does the same. And Step One of doing that is responding to the call when it comes. Or text, in this case.

So, Michael dropped what he was doing, quite literally, and got himself calm enough to drive to Jeremy’s house. Because Jeremy texted _him._ Because he is Jeremy’s best friend, and that’s what best friends do.

And now Michael is here, sitting across from Jeremy on squeaky seating under warm lights, feeling helpless, instead of washing razor blades in the bathroom sink, feeling empty and awful and horribly guilty. Which he supposes is an upgrade.

So it’s good Jeremy called. Because now Michael doesn’t feel those things. And Jeremy can stop panicking and get out of the house. And Michael can stop panicking and get out of his head.

Jeremy’s mouth is moving, and it takes Michael a second to realize he’s saying something.

“Sorry, what?” Michael says, blinking back into reality.

Jeremy nods to Michael’s right. And, oh. The waitress is looking at him.

“Anything to drink?” She asks, probably repeating herself. Michael feels stupid.

“Coffee, please,” Michael looks at the table, where menus have appeared. “Sorry, I’m just tired.”

“No worries.”

Michael sits back and lets Jeremy order a cherry phosphate for himself. Jeremy seems up to it this morning. That’s good. Michael isn’t so sure he’s up for ordering for Jeremy at the moment.

The waitress leaves. 

“Dude, you good?” Jeremy asks. Michael rolls his eyes.

“I can’t believe you’re asking me this right now.”

“Sorry,” Jeremy looks back down.

“You’re so fine,” Michael watches Jeremy for a moment, then leans forward on the table. “Are you good?”

Jeremy shoots him a dead stare, then flatly replies, “I’m wonderful.”

“We’re so well-adjusted almost adults,” Michael replies in the same flat tone. That gets a smile out of Jeremy, which lasts for a solid few seconds before fading.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” Michael asks as he traces the wood patterns on the table with his finger. Maybe that’s the right way to talk about things. To start.

Jeremy squirms. “No. Well, I don’t know. Yeah. Sorry, I—Well—It’s really stupid. I just don’t know if I’m going crazy or not.”

Michael swallows and looks up from the table. This is something. He can’t fuck this up. He nods for Jeremy to continue.

Jeremy opens his mouth, but looks over Michael’s shoulder and shuts it quickly. Not a second later, the waitress is sliding a steaming cup of coffee in front of Michael and dropping a cherry phosphate in front of Jeremy.

“Ready to order?” She asks. 

Michael looks at Jeremy who is looking at Michael. 

“Uh, sorry, we haven’t looked at the menu yet,” Michael says, looking back and forth between the waitress and Jeremy.

“That’s fine.”

“Is it okay if we do just drinks for now, and maybe order food later?” Michael asks.

The waitress looks down at him, bemused.

“You two are literally the only ones here since midnight. You could sit here and not order food for hours and I still wouldn’t care,” she says, and while those words should sound mean, she says them with this kind smile, and Michael can’t help but smile back. He squints at her nametag. _Laura._

“Thanks,” Michael replies. She shakes her head and walks away.

Michael returns his attention to Jeremy, who is eating an ice cube, staring at the bubbles rising up in his drink. And the moment is gone.

So much for talking.

Michael drinks his coffee and thinks some more.

After a few minutes, he realizes Jeremy is staring at him.

“Yeah, bud?”

“Um,” Jeremy looks at Michael’s sleeve, then back to Michael. “Do . . . Do you wanna talk about . . .”

Michael bites at the inside of his lip and he slowly returns his mug to the saucer.

And this is the problem. Michael does want to talk about it. He really, honestly does. And a few months ago he would’ve told Jeremy about it, and Jeremy would’ve gotten all awkward and twitchy, and then Michael would’ve felt bad because if he didn’t do stupid things, then Jeremy wouldn’t get that way about said stupid things. But, Michael was still able to talk about it, and no matter how weird Jeremy got about it, he was still there, in his Jeremy way.

And then for nearly two months, Michael didn’t even have awkward twitchy Jeremy to talk to about this. He didn’t have any Jeremy at all. And that caused so many new and awful feelings. And the only thing he could turn to with these new, awful feelings, was cold, sharp metal late at night, when those feelings struck him like a dagger. Over and over, clean and swift and all consuming.

And Michael still hurts from it. It’s not sharp and sudden and all consuming anymore, though. Now it’s more like the dagger has been sitting there awhile, and he’s had time to adjust around it. Instead of sharp and sudden, it's more dull and distant, but constant and persistent. Always there, but buried deep.

He wants to forgive Jeremy, but he isn’t ready. And he has a feeling Jeremy knows this. And he knows Jeremy is trying. But, Michael is trying, too.

But it’s still there. And it still hurts.

So he can't talk to Jeremy about it. 

“Michael?” Jeremy says. Michael realizes he’s been staring into his coffee. He looks back at Jeremy, who is looking a little freaked.

“Sorry, I’m just tired,” Michael says again. He shakes his head. He’s getting repetitive. Jeremy sits back in his seat and drops it.

Michael rubs his nose and suppresses a sigh.

He longs for the trust they once had, carefully built and looked after, cultivated and nourished for twelve years, just to be taken down with one well placed dagger. And Michael’s worried he’ll never be able to get it out, that it will always be there.

He picks up his coffee mug with a clink and takes a long sip, hoping it’ll wake him up.

Michael needs to figure out what to do about the dagger. And he thinks Step Two of whatever process they’re going through involves pulling it out.

And dislodging something so buried will be difficult and laborious. And once it’s out, it’ll bleed like hell.

But, at some point the bleeding will stop. Then, the wound will heal. And though daggers leave scars, those fade over time, too.

And maybe then, once the bleeding is long stopped and scars faded, they can begin to rebuild that trust.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay so this was written in one go with very little editing, just like chapter one, so again, let's hope I don't want to delete it in the morning lol  
> also, i don't know what I was trying to accomplish by writing this, so hopefully something in this makes sense? We'll see!  
> (also your guys' comments are so sweet. Literally, thank you the most. They make my day!)


End file.
